


The Night HE Came (Home)

by AngelicEclair



Series: Final Girl [4]
Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Erotic Horror, F/M, Halloween, Horror, noncon elements, slashers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicEclair/pseuds/AngelicEclair
Summary: The Reader is housesitting for her friend's parents while they are out of the country. Unaware before, she becomes well-versed in the legend of the Boogeyman on Lampkin Lane.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Original Female Character(s), Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You
Series: Final Girl [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674658
Comments: 3
Kudos: 186





	The Night HE Came (Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read or comment if you are offended by horror elements or writing smut about slashers! Thank you so much!

Beneath the maples, in Haddonfield, Illinois, the foliage had lost its freshness. In the melancholia, pallid hues of decay, birds consulted each other about their migration plans. The scent of rot gave off the perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. It was like a torch had been flung into the trees, the green-veined leaves were a blushing copper. Brass, gold, and scarlet trees whispered, warning each other of the upcoming holiday. The strange gaiety of the wither, despite its beauty, carried an unshakable sense of dread. It stuck to the back of (Y/N)'s neck like a wet leaf.

(Y/N) walked beneath the cold, fragrant shade towards her friend's childhood home on Lampkin Street. (Y/N)'s close friend Evangeline and her parents had gone out of the country to visit family, and she gladly took a bus from Springfield to the quiet suburbs of Livingston County to housesit.

She arrived at the pearl-beige two-story home framed by neatly-trimmed hedges. Just the same as the rest on the well-manicured neighborhood. (Y/N) jumped back, startled out of the way of three costumed children screeching and waving foam weapons about wildly, followed by their clearly-tired parents who apologized profusely. 

(Y/N) waved and offered a sympathetic chuckle to the parents as they hurried after their kids. (Y/N) watched them disappear, only to reappear under a streetlamp a few feet away. She noticed a towering figure just past the family, possibly an older brother meeting them. She turned and climbed the steep steps to the front door. (Y/N) ducked down to retrieve the spare key from under the 'welcome' mat and jammed it in the lock. The comforting warmth of the big, old house instantly relaxed her as she pushed her way inside.

The house was very charming, in a shabby chic kind of way, and smelled faintly of apple and cinnamon as if some decadent dessert had been prepared just days prior. She flipped the foyer light on, and her gaze weaved its way up the staircase. It definitely looked larger on the inside than it did on the outside. Like everyone has done while alone in someone else's house, but few will admit, (Y/N) made her way through all the rooms, turning lights on and off, and nosely opening drawers and cabinets. After the excitement of a change of scenery had waned, (Y/N) set down her overnight bag by the obnoxiously-flowery couch and took a seat. She swiped the remote off of the armrest and clicked on the television. 

The windows shuddered against the night wind that stalked through the neighborhood, sending the leaves whirling. Flipping through the TV guide, she settled on the classic horror movie Night of the Living Dead. She pulled down a fleece blanket that was folded neatly on the back of the couch and drew it around her, her features periodically highlighted by the flicker of the TV.

Since (Y/N) had not furnished her own candy or discovered any in her search of the pantry or cupboards, (Y/N) kept the porch light off to discourage eager children. She took no pleasure in not participating. She held fond memories of the holiday, and somewhere inside her, there still existed a little child inside who wanted to scurry down the sidewalk, taking in the cold air and rushing up to every brightly-lit front porch, instead of being caged inside housesitting.

After an hour, the trick-or-treaters settle down and (Y/N) was getting restless of scrolling down the post-feed on her phone. So, she reluctantly shrugged the warm blanket off and stood up, stretching and standing in front of the TV as a new movie came on. The sound of laughter, store her from her droopy-eyed hypnosis, and she headed towards the door, zipping up her boots before stepping outside. 

Instantly, the night-chill tightened (Y/N) 's skin. She turned and locked the door before jogging down the steps onto the sidewalk. 

The streets were deserted and quiet, but in the near distance, she could hear the low reverberation of music and the gleaming lights of a festival. Evangeline had mentioned a Halloween festival briefly. Something about it being a form of protest since Halloween was temporarily banned and then discouraged up until the current year. 

It was a clear night, lit by a slice of the new moon, ghastly with supernatural splendor. (Y/N) hugged her arms across her chest and rubbed her elbows. She would only take a peek at the festivities and then hurry back to the house. The closer (Y/N) got to the block party, her steps fell in time with the beat. She became awash in bright, pumpkin-orange as she stood in front of the crowd. There was a red-striped candied apple stand, clearly intoxicated teens playing ringtoss with their glow-in-the-dark necklaces, trying to make them around pumpkin stems.

Some adults were just as intoxicated, but more experienced in masking it, leaned up on someone's fence laughing loudly. There was a group of women dressed as leather nuns with sparkling fishnets and platform boots. Others doing the classic catsuit with cheap ear headbands and smudged whiskers. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile, everyone's excitement was infectious. Unfortunately, she couldn't stay. Maybe she could come back next year with Evangeline.

(Y/N)'s smile faded as she turned around to walk back to the Garcia family home. The melancholy of Autumn filled her as all the music faded, and the only sound accompanying her was the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot.She heard an owl 'wooing.' The eerie sound made (Y/N) feel like someone was dead. Farther away, a dog was crying. It made (Y/N) like someone was going to die. The winds through the oaks of Haddonfield were trying to whisper something grave, but she could not understand their language.

Then, there came giggling from behind her. (Y/N) tapped her phone screen, prepared to call the police when she turned around. There was a couple from the festival stumbling down the sidewalk, a few feet back, kissing sloppily. The man, dressed as a greaser, walked his girl backward into a fence and began wetly kissing her neck. The girl, a witch, sighed out and thread her fingers through his hair.

A street over, a fleet of police cars whizzed in the direction of the festival. (Y/N) guessed it had something to do with the general revulsion of Halloween in the town that Evangeline mentioned. (Y/N) had felt momentary sympathy for the underaged drinkers that would probably be hauled into the station for a good old fashioned slap on the wrist, but she guessed they had to learn one way or another. 

The thought gave way to a rush of panic as a patrol car crept up alongside her. 

"Hey, ma'am. You need to go home immediately and lock your doors and windows. Don't answer for anyone but the police, okay?"

Something was wrong. Something more than underage drinking and noise complaints. 

(Y/N) simply nodded and picked up the pace, the bitter air leaving and entering her nostrils burning all the way down to her lungs, like huffing kerosene. 

She clomped up the steps and unlocked the door with clammy hands. 

Dogs were howling at the last sliver of the moon before it was swallowed by clouds as if they were begging for the light to stay for just a little longer, to not go and leave them in total darkness.

Careful to pull the door tightly behind her, (Y/N) made her way into the living room, the warm air enveloped her like a hug. Her cold body was happy to have the blanket pulled around it once more. Not having released before how unusually quiet it was, (Y/N) looked up to see the TV had been turned off. She caught her reflection on the TV with something peeking over the couch. (Y/N) eyes throbbed as terror blew through her veins, and she swiveled around to see - 

\--a vacuum cleaner...

(Y/N) chuckled to herself at how jumpy she was, and on Halloween of all nights, ignoring the penetrative stare on her. It was just paranoia from all the commotion down the street and the police officer. (Y/N) was sure the officers were just going to shut down the party and wanted to keep others from showing up while they were trying to contain things. She pretended she didn't feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her eyes flit frantically from wall to wall, but there was nothing to be worried about, she lied to herself.

(Y/N) settled back into the enclosing plushness of the couch and willed herself to think of anything else. Almost immediately, (Y/N)'s mind pilfered through images of the couples at the festival, leaning on each other, whispering, breathing into each other's hair, fingers drawing lazy, teasing circles on fish-netted thighs.

A longing stirred, one (Y/N) tried to keep dead and buried. She didn't want to be weak, she didn't want to crave, (Y/N) just wanted to focus on her studies and get to where she wanted to be in life. Lust was just an obstacle, one she avoided often. Before she knew it, she had undone the button of her jeans, and her fingers crept underneath her panties. 

She ran a finger through her warmth, coating it with slickness. Her back arched involuntarily at the wet sound it made. Being in an unfamiliar space, it was more difficult to convince herself she was wholly alone. After looking from wall-to-wall again, (Y/N) crooked one finger inside, rubbing along her plush walls, feeling them contract and spasm around her own hand as she moved her other hand down to rub at her clit. Her pussy was throbbing hotly at the attention _._

(Y/N) tried to imagine someone, anyone. Perhaps the chiseled police officer that had told her to go home? No, no, that wouldn't do. Maybe one of the masked men from the festival would do. Something about the anonymity gave things more of the electrifying thrill she so desperately craved. There was no telling just who was behind any of those disguises. 

The mass took on a human shape. Arousal depleted instantly, and cold awareness hit (Y/N) like a freight train **.** It was like being brought back to life with an electric pulse from a defibrillator. Everything seemed too harsh, too dark, too quiet, yet there a man stood, having somehow gained access to the house without a single sound.

He was wearing a white mask, and the empty black sockets, (Y/N) could sense but not see the eyes peer down at her with cold calculation. Eyes designed to unsettle. He was human-shaped, but there was nothing inside.

In a flurry of panic, (Y/N) shot up, grabbed her phone, scrambling backward across the slippery hardwood, putting as much distance between her and the predator she could. If she stopped moving, even for a moment, he would surely seize her up and ravage her body, leaving nothing but copper-colored smears and a cold corpse for Evangeline and her parents to discover. 

(Y/N)'s hand slammed into the drywall for purchase as she scrabbled up the stairs weakly, her socks slipping against the wood. "Please! Stay away from me!" She shrieked, hot tears boiling up. "Please, just leave!" The unshakable phantom walked behind her as her shaking fingers fought to dial 911. Before she entered the number, a hand flew up and ripped the phone from her hands. She could hear the telltale crunch and crackling of the screen, giving out beneath his squeeze. He stepped closer, his breathing loud and steady - the only noise he makes. 

(Y/N) whimpered helplessly, her eyes burning as if she had opened her eyes beneath a chlorine-treated pool. He was a titan in her blurry vision.

(Y/N) used the railing to help pull herself upstairs, so she wouldn't slip and fall back down at his feet. Michael stood statuesque at the bottom of the stairs, eyes welded to (Y/N) as she dashes into Evangeline's bedroom and dives under the bed, trying to make herself as small as possible, praying the lacy dust ruffle would obscure her enough. Her eyes squeezed shut against the suffocating charge that leaped on the air.

Her heart slammed against her fear-sore ribs, fear keeping her from drawing in a grounding inhale. She was growing dizzy, but wouldn't allow herself to take a deep breath, lest she disturbed the silence that teetering, threatening to crash, like glass on a ledge. 

The quaint bedroom became awash in red and blue as more patrol cars screeched down the street. 

_They'll find me, they'll find me, they'll find me. The police are right outside, they'll find me._

(Y/N) repeated internally with a deranged franticness. 

There was a creak in the hallway. (Y/N) peeled open one eye, expecting the emotionless mask to be an inch away from her face. 

He loomed in the doorway. His coveralls tented as the sex in between his legs throbbed unpleasantly, and his hand opened and closed involuntarily on the handle of his knife. His breath was heavier than before. (Y/N) held her hands over her mouth and nose, trying to stifle her panicked gasps. She jumped, pain unfurling through her veins as the huge kitchen knife fell from his grasp, stabbing point-first into the oak floors. 

Michael stood still as his entire being was consumed by tremoring lust, blurring the corners of his mind. He couldn’t register anything else but his thoughts on how sweet she would look covered in blood, but in between the gory flashes, he imagined her under him, bruising her cervix over and over, with the sharp quickness of a stabbing.

(Y/N) cried out in surprise as an arm thrashed underneath the bed for her. The boogeyman had moved faster than she could even begin to comprehend. 

She flailed as a hand seized around her chest, the thick bicep squeezing chest with bone-cracking force. His fingers tightened around at the raised spokes of her ribs for purchase, ripping a squeal out of her throat as he dragged her out from under Evangeline's bed. (Y/N) scratched pitifully at his forearm, feeling his taut muscles flex and bulge with strain.

As he pulled her upwards and she kicked, a too-hot hand slid across her body to clamp down on her shoulder, locking her against his heaving body. That was when she noticed, he wasn't wearing gloves, a hallmark of cocksure arrogance; he knew he wouldn't get captured. Besides, he didn't want a barrier between him and the visceral slop and oozing between his fingers. Her stomach churned, and her skin perked with chills as she realized, the police weren't coming for her after all. A boulder dropped into the pit of her stomach and splashed up cold hopelessness. Terrible hoarfrost underneath the lining of her skin.

The Shape, Michael, bent over (Y/N)'s quaking body from behind, his eyes sweeping across her trembling lips and flaring nostrils. 

"Why are you doing this?"

His breathing slowed at the sound of her voice, and his hot thumb-pad across the silken skin of her neck. It dipped and poked the soft flesh, searching for something. (Y/N)'s lips parted in a gentle gape when he found her pulse point, the artery thrumming heavily against the pressure.

Michael was enthralled by her desperation, her primal fear. He fed on it. (Y/N) felt a tingle stretch throughout her loins followed by a pulsating warmth. Michael's erection ground into her. She felt dreadfully vulnerable in his restraint. It was petrifying, but God, such an enigmatic man wanted her.

His devilish alchemy was bewitching her into limp submission. Tormented by her own compliance, (Y/N) felt her cheeks ignite in shame. A moment of relief washed over her like water over an infected wound, rather unhelpful, but she clung to it, hoped it would help. Perhaps The Shape would have his wicked way with her and disappear back into the dead of night like he had never even come. (Y/N) did have a thing for masks, for men of his stature, of his inscrutability, his razor edge. 

(Y/N) stopped kicking, stopped resisting the urge, and possibly her only means of survival.

She tilted her head to face the form behind her. Being so close, she could barely make out a faint roseate discoloration beneath his tired eyes. His left eye was glossed over with a cloudy film, a slash up through his eyelid towards his brow bone. Michael's muffled inhales deepened. 

(Y/N) focused on the muscle-dashing knife driven into the hardwood, she could see her small, obscured reflection in the shine. Two bear-like hands recklessly gripped her breasts and rolled them, squeezing her flesh hard between his splayed fingers. (Y/N) buckled, his ministrations making her tingle and warmth floweret below her panties. 

(Y/N) whimpered. This was damnation. Ruination. Condemnation. She was stoking the flames of a six-foot-seven beast.

Michael ripped her festive orange sweater up over her breasts and tore her bra off with a clean swipe, the hooks scattering across the floor. One unnaturally warm, scarred hand groped her bare breast, pinching her peaked nipple between his fingers, while his other hand jutted down into her undone jeans. She felt his fingers crawl down her pubic mound to her wet lips. He was plucking the most secret and sensitive chords of her body. 

Did this make her sick? Shouldn't she be struggling?

(Y/N) could only wonder until she finally concluded that there was no right away to survive.

Michael scrutinized his pet, his prey, his new play-thing as he touched her experimentally. She made such sweet sounds; it was making him hungrier and hungrier. His inexperienced fingers ran over her slit sloppily. 

(Y/N) inhaled his distinctive musk. She was transported, confused, and out of herself. Her heated and alarmed senses were in a tumult that robbed her of all rational thought.

His rough fingers rounded her clit as his other groping hand wrapped around the column of her neck. And there awoke a strange thrill rippling inside her, like the overlapping of soft flames, exquisite and melting her all molten insides. Her eyes flared open as her top half was forced down onto the bed. Her feet were still on the floor, and her ass was raised for Michael's appraisal. 

Two hands tore her jeans and panties down her legs in a methodically swoop. Her naked lower half was exposed to him. Though the knife was still presumably in the floorboards, her back was turned to him. He could easily walk over and slice and dice her most private parts until it was hideous and non-recognizable as human.

Jarring her from her panicked thoughts came the hasty ruffling and repositioning of stiff fabric, and then, the telltale drag of a long zipper.

His length sprung from his coveralls and slapped against her backside. (Y/N) had to smother a lustful mewl rising up her throat.

The burning head of his cock prodded insistently against her folds. Michael had never felt something so soft and wet before. It squished wetly with every controlled rub, which drew a staggering whine from (Y/N). A dangerous hand splayed across her back was keeping her pinned to the bed, steadying her squirming body, so she couldn't look behind her, but she could surmise The Shape was frighteningly well-endowed. 

With his grip buried in his wild pubic curls, he lined himself up with (Y/N)'s hole. Her hands curled into the quilt. She knew begging the shadow behind her to go easy on her would not bode well. If anything, it would urge the masked intruder to be rougher.

With a quick roll of his hips, Michael claimed (Y/N), heedless of the constricting tightness of her entrance. She arched and cried out as the swollen tip popped inside. She felt him burn into place. It was a horrible, searing sensation. He pushed up within her walls until she was impaled on his cock, her folds blooming around his violent, tearing girth. His fingers wound authoritatively in her hair.

Ah...Aaah...Oh, my God..."

Her knees wobbled horribly, knocking against the bed frame, from the pain of accommodating him.

Hot fingers locked around her waist. Michael was still, eerily so. The Shape must have been savoring the spasming of her muscles around him. 

(Y/N) cried out as he slammed forward, the prickliness of her untamed pubic hair scratching against (Y/N)'s flesh. Her entire body rocked with his. She was so excruciatingly snug around him, clenching at the slightest betrayal of his enjoyment of her.

Michael bent one of (Y/N)'s legs up onto the bed to better expose her abused pussy to him. His cock stabbed at the fleshy roof of her walls.

Michael was inexperienced as (Y/N) was, but was a fast learner. His uncoordinated thrusts became wild and ruthless. But she would not plead for mercy in fear of making things hellish.

The burning was slowly ebbing and becoming one with a strange delight. It was hot, like a burning rod, as he forced himself into her cervix over and over. 

_It's good, it's so good. I'm ruined for anyone else. It's so good._

Her eyes rolled towards the back of her head, and her tongue lolled from her open mouth. It was pure lunacy. She was losing everything about herself with every thrust. The pained pleasure was driving her to madness. Without thinking it through, (Y/N)'s fingers reached between her legs circling her wet bud. Drool ran from her pretty lips onto the patchwork quilt.

"G-God!"

'I'm dying," she thought. This must be what it's like to die and go to purgatory, resting just between the borders of sweet, chilled heaven and blistering hell.

(Y/N) woke up on the floor, her head leaned against Evangeline's bed, her eyes protesting against the hazy, cornflower-blue light of early morning. There was silence, besides the birdsong from outside. Michael was gone. Even though he moved silently, like a shadow, she was sure he had long gone. She could no longer detect his petrifying energy. She moved, immediately groaning at the tenderness of her over-fucked pussy. She would have dismissed the whole ordeal as a dream if not for the unignorable soreness. 

His massive load had dried on her inner thighs. He must have gone without relief for months. (Y/N) stared at her mascara-streaked cheeks in the mirror as she wiped her thighs down with a wet cloth, wincing when she scrubbed over a violet bruise. 

Afterward, (Y/N) stepped outside, everything seemed to be still, calm, unharmed. She marinated in nature's most healing balm. (Y/N) descended the stairs, rubbing her arms comfortingly. She had survived Halloween night. She had never felt more alive and had never noticed just how magnificent it felt to breathe fresh air. Fat crows sat on the white picket fence across from her, cawing in the mist. She smiled warmly, looking down. (Y/N) noticed little oblong seeds at her feet, scattered across the porch, which led to the pumpkin. It was sloppily carved with a grotesquely-wide grin. The cut-out pieces and stringy guts were tossed haphazardly off the side of the porch, collecting bugs.

She heard a car door slam and looked to her right to see police cars lining the sidewalk and yellow tape flittering around the neighbor's house.


End file.
